Xavier Institute for the Mentally Insane
by The Evil Carlita
Summary: In another universe, the reality of 616 is the product of Jean Grey's imagination, housed at the Xavier Institute for the Mentally Insane. There are only Mutates in this universe, due to the oppressors. Chapter 5: Logan
1. Chapter 1: Jean Grey

Disclaimer: X-Men is property of Marvel, and the story is only made for entertainment value.

Jean sat on the end of her bed, concentrating on blocking the voices out. They were always there. Sometimes they were a gentle hum, but lately they'd been getting worse. Xavier had been gone for a while, and she always had a hard time when he wasn't around to mentor her. She'd been at the Xavier Institute for a little over a year now, she supposed. She was brought by… an accident. The one where the little girl died. She couldn't take it. It had spurred her powers… made her think she was insane for a while, but she knew now that it was all going as it was meant to.

A knock at the door disturbed the silence of the room, and Jean stood to answer it, greeted by familiar faces, and one unfamiliar. She stared inquisitively down at the face framed by a mousy-colored bob and a silly little white hat.

"Jean," the woman said, "Jean, your sister, brother in law, and husband have come to visit you. Isn't that exciting." She kept her voice quiet, as though scared to stimulate Jean too much. Jean looked past her, though, and focused on the tall brown haired man behind her who was wearing a pair of sunglasses.

"Scott," Jean breathed, taking his hand and leading him into the room. He smiled, seeming to be looking at someone behind her, but still obviously overjoyed to hear her voice.

"Careful now, Jean," a redheaded woman said, entering the room.

Jean's eyes narrowed until they were practically slits as she took in the form of the woman who looked so much like her, but was so obviously different. "Madelyn," she hissed.

"Oh good!" Madelyn laughed harshly, taking the hand of the blonde man with her. "At least she's not calling me the 'Goblin Queen' today. Remember, Alex?" she said, turning to her companion. "She was convinced that I was some evil clone of her, ignoring the fact that I'm her biological twin sister. Last time our father was here she was so confused. Half the time she doted on him, and the other half she called him sinister and accused him of trying to mix the Grey and the Summers blood, forgetting that we've been practically betrothed since we were all children! It's ridiculous, really…" Madelyn trailed off, turning her attention back to Jean, who was still glaring at her angrily. Alex just looked at his sister in law pityingly, and turned away, suggesting to his wife that they give his brother and Jean a little time together alone.

"Don't hurt him, you hear me?" Madelyn said before turning toward the door.

"He's my husband! Not yours! Mine!" Jean shouted at the door as it closed, but they didn't come back in. Alex held his wife back, knowing that it would do no good to confront Jean when she was in this type of condition.

"Jean…" It was Scott's pleading use of her name that called Jean back to him… and back to reality, for the moment.

"Oh, Scott. Do your eyes hurt? Are they?…" she trailed off, reaching up to take the sunglasses off, revealing red, scarred, closed eyes. "That fire ruined our life, didn't it? It was all perfect… and then…"

Scott looked away, groping in Jean's hands for the sunglasses and putting them back on. "It's going to be Rachel's birthday tomorrow," he said finally, almost choking on the words. "Her second since…" He couldn't see it, but Jean's eyes were practically shining with happiness, and her voice betrayed the inappropriate emotion.

"Then it will all work out, Scott. It's perfect. I know Rachel, she'd want to come back on her birthday. She'll come back-"

"No!" Scott cut her off, his jaw set was restrained rage that deteriorated into a sob immediately after he spoke against his wife. "No, Jean. She's not coming back. She's dead."

"No! She's the Pheonix, don't you understand? She's going to come back. It's how it works." She had grown defiant now, slipping fully back into her fantasy world, and angry that Scott, her won Cyclops, was denying what was true, what had to be true.

"Jean… no…" Scott said quietly. He reached out, and put his hand on her cheek, feeling her melt at his touch. She couldn't be mad at him, not when he came to visit so rarely, not when-

"Are you done?" Madelyn called from the door, knocking.

Jeans neck snapped around, out of Scott's hand. "You bitch! You stole him! He's mine! You think you're me, you think you deserve him?! You don't!"

Scott stood silently as she continued to yell, and left the room. She was oblivious to him now; he knew there was nothing he could do to get her attention back.

Madelyn raised her finger and opened her mouth to retaliate against the sister who she felt had always been favored, but was silenced by a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you take Scott to the waiting room?" Alex offered. "I'd like to talk to Jean." Looking at Jean, then back to Alex, Madelyn decided to just let it go, and left, taking Scott by the hand. Jean, who had become silent, whimpered slightly when she saw Scott take Madelyn's hand in so trusting a manner, but she didn't say anything. It never seemed to help when she did.

Sighing, Alex stepped into the room. Looking around and the photographs on the walls. There was Scott and Jean at their wedding. There was an empty space next to it. That was where the picture of Alex and Madelyn at their wedding was supposed to go, but Jean had taken it down long ago. A lot of the pictures were of a baby who slowly matured into a little girl. Rachel, before…

Turning away, Alex noted that Jean was crying, fidgeting where she sat. She always seemed to get more upset when they visited her; it upset her world, not matter how happy she was to see Scott. Alex was crying himself, but he wouldn't show it. He had known Jean since she was a little girl, though she wouldn't admit it. Maybe she sincerely didn't believe it anymore.

Looking down at her desk, Alex spotted her diary, open to today's entry:

Xavier is still gone. The Institute is never the same without him, and the voices… I think Gambit is planning to-

Alex stopped reading, picking up the book. "Gambit?" he asked Jean, sitting at the bed and looking at her, showing her the diary.

"Remy…" she answered, smiling softly. "Remy Lebeau. He lives in one of the rooms down the hall. Xavier recruited him not to long ago from the bayou in Louisiana." Alex smiled too, glad at the apparent truth, so far, even if she used the word 'recruited.' He motioned for her to continue. "You remember Gambit, though. He's the one with the playing cards and the staff. He can charge the cards and…" Alex let her keep going, but his smile slowly faded. He knew Remy, of course, but no Gambit. Remy did indeed live just down the hall. He did have cards; he carried them with him wherever he went, seemingly playing a never ending game of Solitaire. He couldn't charge the cards, though, and he had no staff, only a cane. Alex racked his brain, and surprised himself by remembering why he had that cane: he had lost the end of one of his legs to a crocodile before he had found his was up to New York. He was a nutcase.

As Jean continued to talk, Alex looked through past entries. She mentioned so many strange characters: Beast, Iceman, Rogue… Alex could only guess at who they really were. He knew a few, of course. She had called him Havok enough times to realize that was his consistent identity, while Scott was Cyclops. Madelyn was either the Goblin Queen, or Madelyn Pryor, a new last name that Jean had plucked from her imagination.

Sighing, he put down the book, too depressed by miniscule amount of improvement his sister in law had shown over the months. Silencing her with a finger to her lips, he gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, then stood to leave.

Stopping at the door, he turned to her. "Just don't make too much trouble, ok?" he asked, a forced smile on his lips. Then he was gone, and Jean was alone again. Alone? No. Concentrating, Jean tried to block out the voices…

Author's Note: I plan on doing just a series of one-shots based off of the idea that the X-Men do not exist, but are products of Jean's imagination. The next character I'll focus on will most likely be Rogue.


	2. Chapter 2: Rogue

Her name was Rogue. Or, at least, that's what she was called. She had been in the Xavier Institute for the Mentally Insane for so long that those who had known her name had moved on to better jobs. Xavier probably knew, but he wouldn't tell her or anyone else. It would just confuse the situation.

Rogue was lying down in bed, reading a book: _I'll Love You Forever_. Yes, it was a children's book... but she really couldn't handle too much else. Rogue had been told that she had an acute case of autism. She couldn't allow herself to become overly stimulated, which meant that she had become a person of routine, timing her day so that she could avoid activities or new situations that could cause her brain to overload. One thing that she had been taught to avoid at all costs was human contact. It was... just too much.

Sighing, Rogue let the book fall, looking to her left at the wall that separated her room from the one belonging to Jean Grey-Summers. Jean had decided not long after she had moved into the Institute that Rogue was one of the many mutants in Jean's fantastic reality. Rogue smiled, remembering the day when, during lunch, Jean had suddenly stood and run over to Rogue's table, yelling about a mission. Rogue had frozen, scared stiff. She ended up not sleeping for almost a week… but it had been worth it. Ever since then, Rogue had watched Jean from a distance, learning of Jean's world of X-Men and mutants. It was amazing how well Jean made the pieces fit together so that she had a happy ending. As Pheonix, she and her daughter were eternal. Rogue had never met Jean's daughter, though. Maybe they kept her away…

Rogue's mind wandered until there was a knock at her door. Three light taps. Remy, right on time. Smiling, Rogue rose from her bed and opened the door for him, then ushered him in, and pointed to where he should sit. Not talking, he sat at the desk she pointed him to. He knew it was most comfortable when she was in control. Reaching into his pocket, Remy pulled out the deck of cards. He could usually be found in the lounge area, playing solitaire, but once a day, at the same time, he would come to Rogue's room and play war with her. It was a simple game… a good game for Rogue. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Rogue and Remy were now facing the desk from adjacent sides. Shuffling the deck slowly and deliberately, he asked rogue about her day. It was just a formality, really. He knew all her days were the same.

Maybe he forgets, though Rogue thought. Remy was known for a volatile temper, and was kept under sedatives for much of the day.

Dealing the deck, Remy's hands hesitated every time he dropped a card onto Rogue's pile, his eyes constantly flickering towards hers, which we hidden by the hair that had fallen over her face as she stared at her growing pile.

"Yo' … see t'em yesterday?" He finally ventured to ask, referring to the visitors that Jean Grey had had.

"Ah heard them, yes," she muttered, quietly. "they were… quite loud."

"Scott come ta see moi afterward. He tol' moi… he tol' moi 'bout Rachel…" His voice remained solemn. He and Rogue had speculated for months about Jean's little girl, and he had never suspected the truth… but now that he knew it, he thought rogue should know.

"Yes?" Rogue replied, looking up, and eyes sparkling slightly with interest.

"He tol' Remy dat t'e girl… she been dead fo' a year now…" he spoke slowly and deliberately, due to both the sedatives and his consideration for Rogue's condition.

"J-Jean-Jean always said- Jean's always said," Rogue stammered, having trouble getting the words out. "She always- always said- she always said the girl was- girl was a- was away!"

"Remy know' she did," Remy said, putting the deck down (which was only halfway passed out), "but Jean sick… we all sick. An' we need to hold on to da trut'"

"Maybe… M-Maybe the truth isn't better!" Rogue cried, becoming even louder and standing up from the bed.

"Rogue!" Remy shouted, standing and reaching for her. "Calm down! Dey'll come in he'e, den Remy won' get at see ya anymo'e."

"Don't touch me!" Rogue screamed as Remy's hand came toward her, and she scrambled backward, falling onto the bed in the process.

"Rogue…" Remy groaned, pulling his hand back, but advancing slightly toward her.

"Get away!" Rogue's eyes widened and her knuckles grew white as she gripped the sheets, overwhelmed. "Get out! Get out! GET OUT!"

"Rogue!" Remy shouted, leaping to clamp his hand over her mouth so she would just be quiet. He had forgotten, just this once. But once was enough. Rogue stiffened under his touch, her eyes growing even wider as they focused on the hand that was being held over her mouth, then flashed back up to meet Remy's eyes. "Rogue… don't…" Remy almost whimpered, already realizing his mistake, but not taking the hand from her mouth. It started with her hands. The quaking that seemed to come from inside them shook them loose from the sheets. It traveled up her arms… up her legs… and soon her whole body was convulsing. She had no idea what was going on. She couldn't see anything. She had no idea exactly when the attendants threw the door open and grabbed Remy, pulling him away from her. Then they just held her down. Soon, someone came with a comforter and piles of blankets, which they threw on her. Calmed by the pressure, the quaking slowly stopped, and Rogue went to sleep, exhausted.

* * *

Laying awake that night, Rogue remembered little of what had happened that day. She had already forgotten the truth about Rachel. But she did know one thing: Remy touched her. She couldn't remember him touching her… but she knew he touched her. Making up her mind, Rogue forced herself to sit up in bed. Slowly, she opened the door to her own room, and silently walked the few steps to Jean's door, where she tapped lightly, praying Jean was awake.

"Rogue?" Jean asked in a whisper, after cracking the door open.

"It's me," Rogue responded. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Jean held the door open, and Rogue slowly, cautiously, entered. She stopped in the middle of the room, and refused when Jean asked her to sit.

"Jean, I know things I shouldn't."

**

* * *

**

A/N: sorry it took so long. School and such. More later.


	3. Chapter 3: Scott Summers

A/N: People asked last chapter if it was going to continue as one shots. And the answer is yes, but there is going to be some continuity. Like, I am planning, eventually, on an overall plot taking shape, and on there being an end to the whole thing. It's like episodes of a TV show: independent storylines that link together to create one larger story line.

* * *

Scott couldn't believe how easy it had been to settle down inside his blaring world of darkness. Most days he would sit in bed, allowing his brother and his sister-in-law to bring him everything and to help him take care of himself. The solitude was both a burden and a relief at the same time. There was no more worrying about the material things in life; there was only his own mind and the stories that it fabricated to keep him occupied. His wife… oh God, how he missed her. He could understand what she was going through: the wishful thinking that tried to distort reality. But she had let herself loose touch, while he remained sufficiently grounded.

Still, he had to admit that his favorite daydreams were those fueled by his wife's insistences. And, to be honest, there were times when he let his mind be fully taken in by the lies. It wasn't totally unheard of, these superheroes. There was Spiderman and Daredevil and Captain America; they were real. And so were Red Skull and Dr. Doom. There were extraordinary people in the world.

And then there were the times, in the morning, after dreaming of a world of mutants, when Scott would trick himself into thinking that he could see again, but through a red haze. It was so real the first time, that he had tried to get out of bed, guided by sight which he had not known for months now. Then Madelyne came into the room and gave him his medicine, and his vision evaporated.

Alex, his hand sweaty every time he took Scott's, explained that it was his brain playing tricks on him, giving him phantom vision much in the same way that amputees had phantom limbs. It was because his eyes were the ones that had been destroyed in the accident, and not the receptors in his brain, and, every now and then, they would fire, thinking that the eyes had sent them a message. It was all an allusion, though. All an allusion.

Scotty, Scott's nephew, would come into the room every now and then to sit in Scott's lap and read. They were familiar books: Dr. Seuss, so Scott was able to help teach his nephew to read. Scott came to cherish the time he spent with Scotty because, as the weeks passed and he spent more and more time with his nephew, it became clear to Scott that the one night in which he had given in to temptation had resulted in more than a guilty conscience on Scott's part.

Madelyne had hinted of the truth to Scott before, but he had never believed her, content with his life with Jean and Rachel, who was born 6 months before Scotty. But now, now that Jean and Rachel had been torn from him, now that Madelyne had become too cold, now that Alex had become a contradiction of sympathy and detachment, there was Scotty, and Scott knew. He would have named him Nathan.

Now, Scott led his mind wander, thinking of all the fantastic powers that he would have in Jean's reality. Super strength, super speed, super flight… he knew it must be something truly glorious, if it was the product of his doting wife's mind.

"Uncle Scott?" Scotty stuck his head into the room, not phased by the familiar sight of his disabled uncle.

Torn from his daydreams, Scott turned his head toward the sound of his nephew's voice. _Yes Nathan?_ "Yes Scotty?"

"There's a limousine here." Scott could hear the excitement in Scotty's voice, despite the fact that the boy was being careful to just relay the message he had been given. "Some people want to take you to Xavier's Institute. They say it's important. Mom and Dad went straight from work." Scotty stopped abruptly, finished. Sighing, Scott rose from the bed, knowing that this could not be good news. Something must have happened; Jean must have done something in her madness.

"Run and let your grandfather know that he needs to watch you," Scott told his nephew, then felt his way down the hall to the front door, where a waiting chauffeur took to the limousine and loaded him in the back. Scott knew instantly that he wasn't alone in the car.

"Good afternoon, Scott," the familiar voice of Doctor Charles Xavier greeted him. Scott felt at once both reassured and unsettled. Xavier always took care of whatever he set out to take care of, but in an Institute like his own, the demanding cases were many, and he only really devoted any time to those he felt were especially pressing.

"Xavier," Scott responded, reaching his hand out in an automatic gesture of familiarity. Before his hand met with Xavier's, however, it was caught by another, smaller hand. "Jean," he breathed, nearly melting. "What… you're so thin." Scott made the comment without thinking, and without pausing to wonder how he knew.

Xavier breathed in sharply before answering, while Jean's face remained glowingly turned toward that of her husband. "Yes, Scott. She and another girl have been causing quite a lot of problems back at the Institute."

"Problems?" Scott turned inquisitively toward Xavier.

"They both became very thin," Xavier continued, looking between Scott and a spot on the rug of the limousine. "I thought that maybe some medication was having an adverse effect on their appetites, so a assigned some nurses to watch them more closely. Imagine my surprise when I found that both she and the girl had become bulimic."

"Bulimic?" Scott was even more confused now, and he felt Jean's hand being pulled away from his, a sign of her embarrassment and guilt, but he would not let go.

"Yes, bulimic. But in quite an intriguing way." Xavier pressed his fingers together. "You see, both of them purged only just after receiving any type of medication. They would take it, without fuss, and then excuse themselves first chance they had. I also discovered that they have been swallowing, without chewing, their chewable vitamin tablets. It's obvious to me that she is trying to avoid all medication…" he trailed off there, waiting to hear what Scott would have to say.

"But… why?" was all Scott could manage.

"Because-" Xavier began, before Jean cut him off.

"Because it's holding us back, Scott. They've always been holding us back; they-"

"Jean!" Xavier exclaimed, rising. "You promised! I allowed you to come on the condition that you would not speak of this nonsense!"

"But-"

"SILENCE!"

Both Scott and Jean ceased breathing, and their hands fell to their own sides. Pausing for a moment to let his power sink in, Xavier continued. "I drove out here, Scott, because I decided, after contacting your brother and his wife, that the situation was even more urgent than I thought. Others are beginning to be infected by Jean and Rogue's rebelliousness, and I need to stop this now. The Institute is already the legal guardian of Rogue, so measures have been taken to control her. Jean, on the other hand… she's in your hands…"

My hands? Scott thought. Reaching out, he found Jean, and pulled her gently across the limousine toward him. Feeling her face softly, he felt the tears, and his insides quaked. _Jean… _

Scott…

Scott thought. Reaching out, he found Jean, and pulled her gently across the limousine toward him. Feeling her face softly, he felt the tears, and his insides quaked. 

It was a faint echo in his mind, a reminder of all that he owed to her and all that he had promised her that day on the alter. "If she's causing problems," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Then she can come home."

"Scott," Xavier replied calmly, "I don't think you realize-"

"She's coming home!" Scott cradled his unseen wife in his arms. "She belongs with me."

Xavier stewed for a moment in his anger, then opened the door to the limousine, which had never left the front of the Summers house. "Fine. Call me when you can't handle her anymore."

Holding hands, Jean and Scott climbed out into the dull sunlight.

"I know, Scott," Jean said as they neared the house. "I know Rachel's dead. I know that Madelyne is just my sister. I know that the Institute is for insane people. I also know that most of the people there aren't insane. Scott, I know so much."

* * *

A/N: so maybe it's not really going to be one-shots. Now that I have an actual plot in mind. This is going to be just another chapter story. Expect the chapters slowly until summer. Then I can let loose. 


	4. Chapter 4: Remy LeBeau

_I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to I didn't mean to I didn't mean to. _Remy was pacing his room, his mind still wrapped up in the incident with Rogue, despite the fact that it had happened days before. Since then he had left his room only once, when he had heard the screams the night before… something more was happening to Rogue, and he knew it had something to with touching her. He had caused it all.

The night before had been an event for him as well… he hadn't eaten since touching Rogue, and they had allowed it… but then Xavier had come into his room. He'd met the man who ran that Institute only once before, when his adopted father had checked him into the Institute.

* * *

Crazed, but tired, he had allowed Xavier to roll in, barely acknowledging his presence. Xavier's eyes had been fixed on Remy the entire time Seated on the bed, Remy stared into space, and Xavier allowed it for several minutes. The silence was thick, but it disappeared instantly when Xavier cleared his throat, decided that they had spent enough time in contemplation of what needed to be said. 

When Xavier refrained from speech for another few seconds, Remy spoke up.

"She's not autistic," he stated simply, still not looking at Xavier.

Xavier hesitated, then, in a calculated, measured tone, "No."

"But she can't touch, because…." He shook his head, finally looking at Xavier with eyes that were dark and piercing. "I don't really have emotional problems, do I?"

Xavier chuckled a little at that. "I'm afraid you do, Remy. You're here for legitimate reasons."

"And the others aren't?" Remy snapped quickly.

Xavier sighed deeply, contemplating. "Many are not, though deterioration and manipulation have served as reasons enough. Remy, why have you stopped eating?"

"I'm not hungry. I'm upset about… I thought you knew."

"Oh, I do, I just wanted to be sure. I have brought your vitamins-"

"I'm not hungry," Remy said obstinately, turning so that he was facing away from Xavier, making it clear that he wished for the man to leave.

Xavier's tone became determined. "Remy, I will not have charges of negligence filed against my Institute. Your father-"

"He's not my father."

"… your father has trusted me to take care of you. You can sulk all you want, but I won't have you getting sick. Now take your vitamins." Remy remained silent, not moving. "Remy, I am going to leave them on your desk. If they're not gone in an hour, when I come to check on you…" Xavier trailed off, leaving the threat open-ended to maximize it's potency. He then slowly wheeled himself out of the room, and Remy was left in silence.

It wasn't silent for long, however. The screams started, then grew louder and louder, very recognizable. They started out high, then deteriorated into long wails which were tainted with a southern drawl. Remy started and went to the door, wanting to help, but stopped. He had done enough, hadn't he? He had been the one to start all these problems. She may not have been truly happy before, but she was content within the Institute. She was comfortable and quiet and smelled good, and he really just wanted things to go back to the way they were. Remy turned to look at the desk. The vitamins: they had always been a part of life at the Institute… really they had been a part of life for as long as he could remember. He had started taking them when he turned 13... Everyone did. They were normal; they would help return things to the way they had been before. Remy began to reach for them, when Rogue's screams got even louder.

"No! No! The vitamins!… I won't hide anymore!"

The vitamins. She saw it too: they were the past. In his mind now, they were the key to the Institute, to life, and to reality. He searched himself; he was willing to "hide." but not without her. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the door, and moved to open it, but the knob wouldn't move. They had _locked him in_. Furious, Remy grabbed the knob with both hands, twisting as hard as he could, and allowing a small growl to escape between his furiously bared teeth. He could feel himself turning red from the fiery anger that seemed to burst out of somewhere in his chest. He was hot; his hands were hot. Something popped or fizzled or burned, and the next thing he knew was he was out, moving swiftly through the halls towards Rogue's room, towards the screams.

But wait, the screams were getting quieter. Was she hiding, finally? Would she let him rest? No, Remy's neck snapped around and he quickly changed directions, realizing that he was moving away from the screams. She was… down? There was a basement here, but it was never used. Not to his knowledge…

Creeping down the stairs, concentrating on controlling the heat that threatened to break from his hands again, Remy peaked around the corner, and the screams almost blew him away. There she was, held against her will, and there were machines… He couldn't imagine what they were doing to her, but he was suddenly afraid, very afraid.

Her eyes were squeezed shut in pain, but every few seconds they would flutter open, out of control, and the machines sent currents through her, into her head and arms and being. Then she saw him. Somewhere in her pain and her distraction, she was able to see the sliver of Remy that was watching her, and she focused on him, suddenly silent.

Even more frightened by her reaction to him, Remy crept slowly back up the stairs, closing the door and returning to his room.

_There was nothing I could do_, he repeated to himself over and over again as he began to pace his room again. _Nothing… nothing_. Sitting down on his bed, he ran his hands through his hair, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

Things were silent now. It had been sudden, but it was over now. No more screams, she would hide again, with him. They could build a fort, they could give into the undeniable river of ignorance, and just conform. Together.

From down the hall Remy heard the light squeak of a wheelchair wheel coming toward his room. Jumping up, he grabbed the vitamins and swallowed them whole. It was so cold.

* * *

A/N: I'm reading _Love in the Time of Cholera_ right now… hopefully that explains this chapter. 


	5. Chapter 5: Logan

April 4th, 2022

Time: 01:21

It's past midnight, and I can't sleep. Yesterday… yesterday was supposed to be like any other day. It was a mission, me and the rest of the Fantastic Five. Problems with a species that didn't want to stay contained in the N-Zone. We were there, holding them, then there was an explosion, and suddenly I'm freezing my spidey-ass off in the forests of the Canadian wilderness. Radio was working, so rescue was on it's way, but I was found by something else first.

The beast came at me from behind, howling something unintelligible and inhuman. I ducked, but couldn't completely avoid him, and he ripped my costume with his damn bone-claws. As he turned around to come at me again, I pulled myself together and webbed him to the tree he had used to stop. He cried again. I said some choice words, which I don't think need to be repeated here, and he started quieting.

"Look, pal, you are going to be all sorts of dead if you don't calm the hell down and tell me what you're doing here," I said after it seemed that he was actually listening. Breathing deeply, he told me, curtly, that I was the one on his territory and I should back off or I was going to be in some serious hurting. He was already working on the webbing with his claws, but I just reinforced them, and he wasn't going anywhere.

He growled and, god help me, I actually felt some pity for the creature.

"How long have you been out here?" I asked, calmer. He glared, but replied.

"Don't know. Don't care."

"You live anywhere around here?"

"I live here! It's my damn territory!"

He had obviously been abandoned by someone, and reduced to living like an animal in the snow. Taking a closer look, I saw he was unkempt: long, shaggy hair, long fingernails, torn clothes. He had a black eye too, something he definitely didn't get from me. I gave him time to calm down again before continuing.

"I can take the webs off, if you promise not to fight me. I'm leaving, I promise. Some people are going to come get me, and I'll be gone. Do I have your permission to stay here? Will you not kill me if I free you?"

He looked off to the distance, obviously waging an inner battle. I could tell he wasn't used to being beaten by anyone, mush less a scrawny little thing like me. "I'll let you be," he said finally, and, taking out my knife, I cut him free. Finally unrestrained, he circled me, sniffing the air. He walked hunched over, like an animal. He was short, too; probably only a little over five feet.

"What's your name?" he snarled.

"Peter Parker. Yours?"

"Logan."

"… no last name?"

He laughed a little at this. "Not that I know of, no."

"How would you not know…?"

"I don't know," he said, a little maniacally. "You tell me, bub. All I know is I wake up one day out here, and there are some wolves sniffin' my balls."

I stood there, stunned for a moment, before answering. "There is some precedence of the military brain-wiping subjects. But… that was outlawed. Years ago. It's considered a war crime by the world courts!"

He laughed again. "You think that'll keep people from doing it? I don't think so."

At that point I was indignant. I wanted whoever had done the brain-wiping to this man to be punished. But I couldn't. The only thing I could do was bring this man back into the real world. "I… um, here," I said, pulling out the plastic bottle that fit neatly into one of the pockets on my vest. I pulled out one of the vitamins. Reed swears by those things; he says that the vitamins and complex-carbohydrates stored in those things are enough to save a life, and is constantly amazed that they're government-issue to all earth citizens. His charts show people living longer and healthier. The ones in the back show an increase in insanity, but lately even he has been one for censorship…

Logan reached out and took the vitamin, held it up to his nose, sniffed, grinned maliciously, then threw it at my feet. "You give me another one of those damn things, and I'll shove it up _your_ ass instead."

"It's, um, it's not a suppository," I replied, a little shaken by the hostility in his voice.

"With enough pressure it can be, bub," he said, turning to walk away.

"Wait!" I called out, and he turned. "I can, I can take you back to the real world. I can fix whatever has been done to your mind."

"I'm fine. I got all I need here," he looked down at his bone claws, which he then sheathed in his forearm.

"You…" I hadn't really taken a good look at the claws. "Where did you get them?" I asked. They were obviously some time of mutation, caused by something.

"Don't know. I think I was born with them."

"No one is born with a mutation. There are no mutants, just mutates. You know that, don't you?"

"I don't, bub. All I know is it wasn't radiation or any of that bullshit. I been this way since before the tests. Only thing I am sure of." He then looked up, and I heard the rotors of helicopter. It was still a ways away, but it would be there soon.

"You're rides coming," he growled. "So get one thing straight: I ain't gonna live in no world where I have to take a toxic vitamin. I'm happy out here, bone-claws and all. An' if I were you, bub, I'd look more into those damn pills. They're more than you think they are, assuming' you're as naïve as you seem. So forget me, forget what you've seen… but call me for the revolution."

"Revolution?… wait a minute here!" But he was walking steadily away, and helicopter was lowering it's ladder. Grabbing the lowest rung, I looked back, and saw that he had been joined by a tall blonde woman in a white fur jacket. She looked over her shoulder at me, and I heard it. _And the proletariat shall rise to defeat the oppressors. The world revolution is at hand._

Maybe I'm crazy, but I swear I heard it. It makes no sense. Oppressor? The days of oppression are long past. But the charts? About the vitamins. They were unveiled almost 50 years ago… a cure to world hunger and vitamin deficiency. Even obesity has gone down since "Hope" (as the vitamin is called) was issued to everyone. "Hope" has done nothing but good.

They were probably just enemies of Richards or something. Fuck it all, I'm going to bed.

Time: 02:54

You're friendly neighborhood Spiderman

* * *

A/N: I love _Astonishing X-Men  
_


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